


~B&B: Bed and Boyfriend~

by faraboverubies22



Category: Love Island (Video Game)
Genre: Comedy, Cooking, Eventual Romance, F/M, Slow Build, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 18:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20550353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faraboverubies22/pseuds/faraboverubies22
Summary: CHAPTER 1: Sugar & Spice & Everything- Yikes!It's been a year since you've left the Villa. You've recently graduated culinary school and have just accepted a position at a bed and breakfast, just a couple miles outside of town. With the help and steadfast encouragement from Laney, your best friend, this is your attempt at moving forward with life, still coping with the loss of your mother.It's your first day at your new job and things are exciting and nerve-wracking all at the same time. However, it's about to get rockier when you run into someone familiar. You haven't seen him in a while and feelings come flooding back- even more so when you discover he's no longer dating a specific someone.Will you clash or connect?Grab a mixing bowl and spatula and feast your eyes upon this dish that includes romance, comedy, and a splash of something extra.Find out what that is when you read...~B&B: Bed and Boyfriend~





	~B&B: Bed and Boyfriend~

You are rushing out the door of your apartment when you realize you've forgotten something important. You stop midway and force yourself back inside to retrieve it.

Your apron.

While crossing over to your room, your cell phone begins to ring in the back pocket of your jeans. The pair you told yourself to wash the day before, but didn't.

Fishing out the cellular device out of your jeans, you simultaneously grab the apron that was found neatly displayed on top of your bed. Putting it on speaker, you place the phone between your bicep and body, securing it tightly.

"Laney, I'm almost out the door, what do you want?" You say, your voice coming out shaky. From nerves? Excitement? You aren't quite sure but you decide that you're equally anxious and electrified for what is about to come.

Your best friend's voice bellows from the phone. "Are you excited?!" Enthusiasm coats her words and you sigh loudly, being reminded once again of the event that is soon to take place.

"Yes, of course, how could I not be?" You shuffle past the kitchen table before reaching the front door, grabbing at its knob and feeling the anxieties hit you in the face. You stop moving.

"Wait," you say.

"What?" She responds.

"What if I'm not cut out for this, Laney?" You ask your friend, worry and doubt filling you. You clutch your Forever 21 tote bag with your cooking 101 textbook in it, and feel the metal of your necklace tapping lightly at your warm skin. Your mom gave it to you right before she passed away several years ago. Suddenly, you feel completely incapable of.. existing.

"No-!" She shouts, and you cringe from how loud she is. You set the bag down at your feet and, taking the phone into your hands, you press it up to your ears.

"YOU WORKED HARD FOR THIS-" You jump and remove the phone- and Laney's shrill voice- from your ear. _Maybe turning it off speaker would help me from going deaf_, you think to yourself, trying to maintain rationality -and the ability to hear.

"-so this is the right thing for you, _. Trust and believe." Keyshia Cole's song is instantly running through your head and you suppress the urge to sing it out loud. You feel yourself sighing again and then, you nod your head.

"Okay, Laney. Thanks. Gotta run." You say your goodbyes and hurriedly race down the stairs to get to your car. Once inside and buckled up, you check the time. 9:52am.

You're late to your very first shift.

~~~

You pull in to the quiet and closed-off space where a quaint, brick building is sitting. Tall oak trees surround the entirety of the land. B&B reads on top of the building and the feeling of insecurity creeps up on you again, yet Laney's voice begins to ring loudly in your ear. _"You worked hard for this." _

And right then and there, you told yourself to suck it up. This is what you needed to do.

Ever since your mom's passing, you've retreated into this pit of despair. You've become a recluse. You've decided that life wasn't worth much, but.. you _did _have Laney. And she always had your back. Little by little, you felt yourself grow as a person; spiritually, emotionally, mentally- you were heading into the right direction. You doubted a lot, still, and the anxieties you carried with yourself whisper to you every once in a while. Now that you have this job, though, it's a mixed bag as you are excited to work, but also scared you may crumble at any moment. What would happen if you made a mistake in the kitchen and felt like the world was against you? Neither your mom or Laney could be there to help and get you back on your feet. Tearing yourself away from the inevitable thoughts of being human and needing guidance, you let out a breath that you hadn't noticed you'd been holding in, until now.

You get out of the car and begin walking up to the entrance.

Since leaving the Villa -and then eventually graduating culinary school half a year ago- you've been in search of a job. Coincidentally, Laney ended up discovering an ad for a cook at this bed and breakfast located a couple miles outside of town. What better way to get your foot in the door than snatching a position there?

The outside of the building looked old, that's for sure. Its door seemed to be decaying, vines of green had already made its home in the cracks and crannies of the brick, and you doubted again, for the umpteenth time, how you would survive this.

You force your feet to move up the stairs, which lead up to the patio + main door. You notice more cracks and make sure not to step on them.

At the top, you take a look at your surroundings. To your left, there's an off-white porch swing; dust and leaves cover the surface and some of the paint has been chipped off due to normal wear and tear. To your right, a display stand shows a simple greeting and short advertisement for what lies ahead. "Right," you utter to yourself, "the door."

As you reach your hand out to touch the rusted door knob, you step back immediately as the door swings open.

"Oh!" You cry out, shocked from the sudden movement.

An older woman in a poodle skirt stands before you, her frame tiny and her face beautiful and glowing. She appears maybe sixty or so, and you're already tempted to ask for her skincare routine.

Concern riddles her face and her arms stretch out to you, her skirt moving with her. "Oh," she cries, taking a step towards you, "I'm so sorry, darling, I didn't mean to frighten ya!" She exclaims and runs her fingers, which are cold and thin, along your arm, tickling at your skin and causing goosebumps to dance along your flesh.

You nervously chuckle but step back out of habit. "It's alright, no worries." You reassure her and pull a strand of hair around your ear. Straightening your back, you smile at the lady, getting a strange feeling that you were being interviewed (again).

"I couldn't help but hear you pull up." She beckons for you to come inside, her head nodding in the direction of the door. "I knew it was you, too, because of the sound your car made. No one who works here drives a car that sounds like that." She laughs loudly and you wonder why that was so funny to her however you continue to smile.

Walking inside, you're greeted by the building's musty scent. You also catch hints of stale coffee and.. sweet pea?

The house, while old and rickety outside, was gorgeous and remodeled on the inside. As soon as you enter, your feet meet hardwood flooring. The walls are nicely wallpapered, the design a pastel-pink-floral kind with white stripes. A couple feet away to your right is a flight of stairs, going all the way up to a second level, a hallway leading down to what you imagine is a reception area is tight and compact, which already makes you uneasy. Directly to your left, a study room displays a multicolored rug, a grandfather clock perched in the corner, and a desk at the end of the room. This is probably where people check in and out.

"Let me introduce myself, hon," her voice is heard from behind you, and you turn to face her. Walking briskly inside, the friendly lady closes the door behind her, a loud bang filling the house.

"I'm Flora Foster," she goes to shake your hand and you do the same, the smile still plastered on your face. You recognise the last name as the man who interviewed you a week ago, Richard Foster. You remember his warm greeting and how he was quick to hire you.

This must be his wife.

"My husband owns the place and I'm just here for the free bed and food!" She giggles again and winks playfully at you. Her joking helps in calming your nerves, and you feel the weight on your shoulders begin to release and fly away.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, however," she starts to say, sadness dripping from every word. "Most of our cooking staff have caught the flu, and are unable to come into work for the next few days." She starts walking down the hallway, and as you follow her, you realise that the width of the space was not wide enough to fit more than one person.

"So, it looks like you'll have to be patient as our head chef trains you. It'll only be you, him, and two others for the time being." _Of course they had to be under-staffed right now._

Walking behind her, you notice she walks with a slight limp, the left side of her body trying to carry all of her weight.

After a moment or two, the room finally opens up to a reception area, just as you had expected.

The room is spacious with couches adorning each side of the room, and another multicolored rug lays flat on the floor between them. A large flat-screen TV rests above the fireplace and you immediately notice it's not just you and Flora anymore. A couple is standing in a faraway corner on the right, holding wine glasses in their hands- they're laughing about something. They go quiet when you enter the room, their focus now solely on the new face. They say hello and you smile at them, greeting them politely. Up ahead, the room doesn't end as you take notice of another hallway, right behind the standing couple. As if reading your mind, Flora speaks up.

"The kitchen and supper room are just down this hallway," she carefully maneuvers around the couple and you follow suit, nodding at the couple as you pass them. The hallway is just as small as the other one, if not smaller, and you wonder just how everyone here tolerates such small spaces.

You begin to question your weight, but you dismiss it as you see that Flora isn't that must skinnier than you, and _she_ even might be too big for the hallway. Your eyebrows furrow in concentration as you follow behind, your eyes resting on her skirt. It's a pretty periwinkle colour, with a Sylvester the Cat apron tied around the middle section.

When you two are finally out of the prison cell that is the hallway, you pick up a scent wafting in the air. Garlic. Herbs. Lasagna. You feel your tummy rumble with hunger, and you silently kill yourself for not eating something before leaving.

The hallway leads you to another open space, a dining setting with a beige, oval table in the middle of the room and chairs pushed in. On each of the four walls, a china cabinet rests against the wallpaper, and you notice that they have been collecting dust for a while now. There's another room off to the right. The door is closed and you imagine it to lead to the kitchen.

"Now the room you've been waiting for!" Mrs. Foster exclaims excitedly, rushing over to the door. She looks at you expectantly. "Please get to know the staff and, oh," she stops for a moment and looks to the floor, a troubling look crossing her face, but only for a millisecond. "Don't let B bother you too much," she finally says, a mischievous grin beginning to form on her lips. B? 

"Who's B?" You ask her, your hands resting at your midsection, folded.

"Oh, B's our head chef, why, of course!" She laughs again. "We call him that because he whizzes around like a bee!" _Oh_, you nod your head, understanding her. _Bee_.

"So, as I said, don't pay him any mind if he becomes a nuisance around you. When we are understaffed, he tends to panic a bit and has taken it out on Leslie a time or two before."

Before you can ask who Leslie is, Flora claps her hands together and chirps about going into the kitchen, finally. You smile at her for the millionth time and allow her to open the door.

She stands by the now opened door, and you walk in.

"-so if I have to tell you again, missy, it's off with yer head, ya here?"

A familiar sounding voice fills the very messy kitchen, and you stop dead in your tracks, knowing right away who it belongs to.

There, a couple feet in front you, by the sink, back facing you, you see him.

Bobby.


End file.
